


At Your Tempo

by reddragon29



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco is trying to find himself, Polyamory, Slow Burn, everyone's kids are also involved sort of, i'm working to include them better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddragon29/pseuds/reddragon29
Summary: Draco reconnects with the Potter crew at King's Cross and finds out what their lives could have been if he wasn't their sworn rival at Hogwarts. Ron/Hermione/Draco poly fic.





	1. On The Downbeat

**Author's Note:**

> Hello reader!
> 
> I'm going to be completely honest, this is my first HP universe fic, please be nice.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Rocky
> 
> Song lyrics are from Symphony by Clean Bandit, ft Zara Larsson

Their kiss during the Battle of Hogwarts was the fire in each of them finally brought to life by the uncertainty of whether they would live or die, whether they would have to see the light of day without the other by their side. Ron, the one with the emotional range of a teaspoon, gathered every ounce of courage in that teaspoon and went in for the kiss, knees weak with relief that Hermione didn’t pull away. And Hermione, the one with the intuition of a mother on steroids, gathered Ron in her arms and wouldn’t let him go because the kiss was everything she was waiting for and more ever since the day Ron won his first quidditch match against Slytherin. The only thing they regretted after pulling away that day was that they realize the depth of their love sooner.

==========

__

_And now your song is on repeat_  
_And I'm dancin' on to your heartbeat_  
_And when you're gone, I feel incomplete_  
_So if you want the truth_

__

_I just wanna be part of your symphony_  
_Will you hold me tight and not let go?_

==========

Draco Malfoy watched Ron and Hermione usher their kids through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾. Another generation of redheads off to Hogwarts. He eyed his own son, pale and skinny like Draco, push his precariously balanced trolley forward through the throng of Muggles rushing to catch their train on Platforms 9 and 10.

“Excuse me, sir, could I see your tickets?” A station officer held out his hand expectantly.

“If you must,” Draco said and fished a single ticket out of his coat pocket. “We’re only seeing our son off, then my wife and I will be on our way.”

The station officer studied the ticket carefully, as if trying to decide if there was something wrong with it, but finally handed it back without protest. “Your platform is just this way,” he gestured vaguely and walked off.

Draco nudged his son forward again, curling a stiff arm around his wife’s waist. She leaned away from his touch. They hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other in a while, not since she found Scorpius packing his things for Hogwarts the week before he was due to leave. The boy had an infamous reputation to overcome because of his father’s actions nineteen years ago, she hardly wanted to send him off to the same school Draco had attended, but was resigned to idea with the hope that the professors at Hogwarts would be kind and understanding to Scorpius and fend off any students who threatened him. He was not his father, just as Draco was not his.

The couple spent many nights before Scorpius was even of age to attend any school of magic arguing about whether Scorpius should go to Hogwarts or if he should go to a different school to avoid putting any weight on him to follow exactly in his father’s footsteps. Draco wanted Scorpius to go somewhere else from the start, saying he would not subject his son to the same cursed school, but Astoria insisted it would be worse at another school. All the other students would see was what their parents read in the papers, he wouldn’t be given the chance to separate himself from fact or fiction before they tore him apart.

A whoosh and the Malfoy family was through the barrier.

He immediately spotted Ron and Hermione, and Harry and the Weasley girl (Ginny, he reminded himself), having their final goodbyes off to one side, the pride in each of their eyes as they looked at each of their children. Draco wished he could feel the same for his son. He noticed them staring back and Ron locked eyes with him in the moment before he forced himself to nod curtly and turn away to focus again on the small family he built. The three friends chose to fight for what was right and they were rewarded well for their efforts. A traitor should not be afforded the same. He was satisfied with his life, his wife, his son, but something nagged him in the corner of his brain when Ron looked at him like that.

Draco handed his son his train ticket. “Be good this year, eh? Make sure the other students know your name.” He didn’t need to tell his son that, Scorpius was always good and the other students probably knew who he was just by looking at him, but he didn’t know what else to say. His father had never said anything else. 

Scorpius nodded. “Of course, Father.”

“Scorpius, do you have everything? Your robes? Your wand?” Astoria fussed with the collar of Scorpius’ white dress shirt, pressing the starched flaps to his sweater and wedging his tie up a little higher.

“Yes Mother, I have them, and all of my books,” Scorpius replied, pointing to each of the things on the trolley to prove it. “And the extra parchment you wanted me to pack so I can write you.”

She pulled him in for a side hug and kissed the top of his head. “Very good.”

Scorpius looked so small on the busy platform, even smaller in Astoria’s arms. Draco held out his arms and Scorpius hugged him briefly, too. Then they pushed him onto the Hogwart’s Express and saw to it that everything on his trolley made it onto the train. As the train pulled out of the station, Draco and Astoria stood on the platform hands not quite touching, praying to anything or anyone that would still listen that their son would come home safe for Christmas.

Friends and family of the departed wizards began to Apparate away from Platform 9 ¾, returning to whatever it is they do with their lives when their children are away at school. Draco glanced at the Weasleys and the Potters again, who were conversing and clinging to their respective partners, tucking their children who were too young to leave between them. Astoria placed a hand on his shoulder, then she’s gone too, Apparated to her office at the Ministry.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, still had everything Draco didn’t.

He only blamed his father a little bit for the disgrace the Malfoy name now held. His unwavering faith in a force too weak to form a physical self cost the family their good fame and fortune, and now they lived in shame in their own manor that was once a point of pride.

“Draco!”

Hermione was calling to him and she approached when he barely looked in her direction, choosing instead to check to make sure his jacket was securely buttoned up to his chin before he returned to his job sorting artifacts at Borgin & Burkes. She called his name again and he looked up for good this time, curious to know why she would bother talking to him after all he put her through at Hogwarts.

“Draco, it’s good to see you,” Hermione said to him. “Your son--Scorpius, wasn’t it--he’s off for his first year at Hogwarts?” She waited for him to answer.

“Y-Yes, that’s right. Don’t know if I can say the same about you and Weasley,” he replied. “Certainly expected, what with the number of mu-children you have.” _Or are planning to have_. Draco stumbled over himself, the word mudbloods coming too easily to his tongue. Children not born of pure blood were not to be scorned anymore in his house. Some of the decision was influence from his wife’s family, who were of pure blood but never held the same deep hatred for those who were not, but most of the decision was made purely on the fact that wizards were wizards, no matter where they came from.

Hermione waved for the others to join them. “Come have a drink with us.”

“It’s half past eleven on a Friday, Granger.”

“That’s Weasley-Granger now, Malfoy.” Ron reached them first out of the group and slid his arm loosely around Hermione’s waist with an easy but wide grin. Draco hated how Hermione relaxed into the motion, trying not to think about how his own wife had cringed. “Only joking, we hyphenated. It’s Granger-Weasley now. Are you coming for drinks?”

The full group--Hermione, Ron, Harry, Ginny, and two kids he wasn’t sure who belonged to who--were standing around Draco now, waiting for his response.

“As I was telling Granger, it’s only half past eleven on a Friday,” he said.

“We have children with us, it’s only for butterbeer,” said Hermione, not bothering to correct him.

Harry put a firm hand on his arm and said in that enveloping voice that trapped just about everyone he came in contact with, “Join us.”

Draco swallowed, his eyes narrowing involuntarily. “If you insist, Potter.”

==========

The tavern was loud and every noise echoed in Draco’s mind. He much preferred the quiet inn he usually holed up in on the nights Astoria had members of her family over and they looked at him like he was a lost puppy and whispered to each other when they thought he wasn’t looking. The group had immediately snagged a few tables and pushed them together when they arrived, Hermione and Ginny going off to procure enough butterbeers for seven.

“So what have you been doing since you ran off sniveling after the Battle?” Ron asked, leaning over crossed arms on the table. An amused smirk sat squarely on his face as if he had been waiting years to ask the question.

Harry slapped his arm. “Come on Ron, be nice.”

“What? It’s true,” Ron whined

“We agreed--”

Draco cleared his throat and interrupted them. “I’ve, uh, I’ve been working at Borgin and Burke’s.”

Ron’s attention shifted back to him. “Doing what, exactly?”

“Sorting and archiving artifacts. Some of them have rightful owners or unnecessary hexes on them, it is my job to return them or remove the hex.”

“A perfectly respectable job,” said Hermione as she set down four butterbeers in front of them. Ginny was close behind with the remaining three butterbeers.

Hermione sat to the left of Ron and Harry, directly across from Draco, and Ginny sat between Draco and the children.

“Bet you’ve encountered some real nasty hexes,” said Ginny as she took a sip of her butterbeer.

“There was one time I had to chase an old lady down the street while dancing because she stole a necklace and I had just opened a chest of cursed toys. I slept fourteen hours that night and my back was sore for days.” Draco scowled at the memory.

“Sounds vaguely like a case I had to wrap up,” said Harry. “Was that back in April?”

“Yes, it was,” he muttered. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to witness yet another embarrassing act; luckily it only sounded like Harry did the paperwork, he didn’t actually see anything.

“I heard Mr. Borgin was thinking of closing up the shop soon,” said Ginny.

Hermione nudged Draco’s foot under the table. “Is that why you’re sorting everything out?”

The announcement had been on the Daily Prophet front cover, the oldest wizarding antique shop in London closing and Mr. Borgin was retiring. When asked if Mr. Burke was in agreement about the decision, it was not determined if Mr. Burke had a say in the matter or he was even still alive to put in a word at all.

“I was actually thinking of purchasing the shop from him myself,” replied Draco. “A lot of the artifacts belong to families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and I’m sure they’ll be wanting it all back once I tell them it’s theirs.”

Ron clapped a hand on Draco’s shoulder and said to Harry, “You were right mate.”

“About what?” Draco asked.

“You’ve gone soft,” said Ron to him.

Draco sputtered in protest as the other adults at the table burst out laughing, the children tugging on Ginny’s sleeve asking what was so funny.

“It looks good on you,” Ron assured him through the noise, leaning back over his arms again. Draco’s grey eyes met Ron’s blue ones and he couldn’t look away. Something about Ron’s gaze held him there and it showed Draco that there was more to Ron than that daft boy he knew at school.

Hermione hooked her arm through Ron’s and leaned on the table as well. She kissed Ron’s cheek and the trance was broken; Ron turned back to the conversation and Draco stared at his hands in his lap. He wasn’t sure how long they had been staring at each other, but it was long enough, the others were already deep in debate over the pros and cons of the latest world-class broomstick released.

==========

“Give it _back_ , Hugo!” Lily yelled across the yard. She chased her cousin on foot while he flew off on his new broomstick.

It was Hugo’s birthday, and the Weasley-Grangers were hosting a birthday party at their house. Harry was supposed to be there, but he was called away on urgent Auror business. Draco was left to face the rest of Harry’s family without Harry as a buffer. So far it hadn’t been so bad, Ron and Hermione were pleasant enough, and Ginny as well. They asked him how Scorpius was doing at Hogwarts and didn’t mind that he hadn’t brought a gift for Hugo. It wasn’t that Draco forgot to bring one, he just didn’t know what the boy liked and he wasn’t going to be the awkward family friend trying to fit in any more than he already was. He could exactly bring something from the shop, could he? All the things there were likely to kill the boy and he couldn’t have that, not when his time with the people he despised so much growing up were beginning to feel like a home away from home.

The trio and Ginny (he had to find a better name for the group of them) invited Draco to various outings with them after their time at the tavern on September 1. Now, in late fall, as the trees stood bare in preparation for winter, Draco felt like this was how things could have been if he hadn’t been so eager to please his father and the Dark Lord. They had a regular dinner date every Saturday, sometimes Astoria came, sometimes she didn’t; she didn’t take to the Potter crew (there it is) as much as he did.

“Hugo, let your cousin have a turn,” Hermione called from the porch where she was talking to Draco. 

Draco took a drink of his wine. “He’s going to be one heck of a quidditch player if he keeps that up.”

“Indeed.” She sighed with a proud smile, her eyes tracking Hugo through the air. “But for now, he needs to learn how to share.” Hermione left Draco alone on the porch.

Now Draco sighed, and took another long drink of his wine, wishing not for the first time that Harry had not been called away for work so that he could keep Draco company. Though, he supposed he should stop using Harry as a safety net, the man already had enough people counting on him for too long. Draco knew what that was like, at least in short term, he couldn’t imagine the weight of it for seven years.

He entered the house to find Ron. Ginny had him cornered in the kitchen cutting carrots for dinner, and he was complaining about how there were spells for that and why wasn’t Hermione doing it instead.

“Would you rather be cutting up carrots or watching the kids?” Ginny challenged him. Ron gave her a look of disgust. “That’s what I thought. Keep chopping.”

“I can help,” Draco said, setting his drink on the counter.

Ginny didn’t miss a beat. She set down her knife and wiped her hands on a towel. “See? He doesn’t complain. Have fun you two.” And with that, she was out of the kitchen.

Draco removed his suit jacket and laid it over one of the kitchen chairs. He carefully rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, pocketing his silver cufflinks as not to lose them. Then he picked up the knife and held it over the squash Ginny had been working on. The knife bit into the skin of the fruit, then Draco set down the knife.

Ron stopped mid-chop when he noticed Draco wasn’t moving. “What’s the matter Malfoy?”

There was no point in hiding it. Better to admit it right away than drag it out, Ron would only make fun of him even more for not wanting to say anything. “Well you see I’ve...I’ve never actually done this before.”

“Chopped vegetables?”

“...Yes.”

“Blimey, Draco. Even my mum made me chop vegetables and she--”

“Just show me how and we can move on, okay?” Draco wouldn’t let himself break. The anxiety built up inside of him that his childhood was not as it should have been and his mother never taught him how to survive without a house elf like the Weasleys. He was defenseless on his own and--Draco stilled his trembling hand.

Ron seemed to be working out his options, wondering if he should tease Draco further or just let it go. He picked up his knife again. “You have to keep your fingers out of the way, yeah? Tuck them in like this.” He demonstrated on the carrot and Draco copied his position on his squash. “Then you take the knife in sort of a rocking motion and follow through at the end.” He demonstrated again, quickly slicing three pieces off in rapid fire. “Easy.”

Easy. Draco made a tentative cut. He didn’t manage to slice all the way through, his touch was too light, and he hacked through to get the last bit off. The piece of squash flew off the counter. Both of their heads snapped to follow the flying object, watching it roll under the stove and out of sight.

“Erm...I think you’re gonna need a bit more practice,” said Ron, failing to stop the smile forming on his face.

==========

“You want us to spend Christmas with the Potter boy?” Astoria cried. “You don’t honestly think--” The sound her fork clattering on the table echoed in their spacious and modestly decorated dining room.

“It will be good for Scorpius,” Draco said as calmly as he could. “He’s becoming friends with Albus, we shouldn’t keep them from seeing each other over the holiday.”

“Then we won’t be keeping then from anything, I will. I refuse to have our son spent time with the young Potter so long as I have any say in it.” Astoria stood up from the long table. “Goodnight Draco.” She made her way out of the dining room and Draco heard her heels clicking on the stone steps up to their bedroom. A door slammed.

Draco sighed. Their son would be home in three weeks and he thought he should approach the topic early so that they could get their shouting matches out of the way before they had to welcome Scorpius home. Astoria and Draco argued most nights now, over big things and little things, but mostly it was how much time he was spending with the Potter crew. Sometimes their nights ended in Astoria retiring early; others, they screamed late into the night, the house elves retreating to their sleeping quarters in the kitchen.

He continued to eat his meal as an elf cleared Astoria’s plate away. Another elf came into the room holding something in his hand.

“A letter from the Weasley-Grangers, Master Malfoy. Just arrived by owl.” It had taken some coaxing to get the house elves to call them the Weasley-Grangers, they all insisted on using terminology Draco’s father used to refer to them, but Draco kept pushing until they no longer called them those things.

“Bring it here.” Draco took the letter and broke the seal:

_You have been invited to the Weasley-Granger Christmas celebration on December 25th of this year. Please bring your cheer and good tidings, and please limit your number of guests to 3. Send an owl to notify us of your attendance before December 1st. Happy Holidays! Ron, Hermione, Rose, and Hugo Weasley-Granger._

There was a glittering Christmas tree next to the family’s names at the bottom.

Draco sighed again. It was a good thing Astoria did not know the letter arrived before she went to bed. He was going to the celebration, of course, the Weasley-Grangers had been kinder and more welcoming than any other family in his life, once they got past the awkwardness of being former rivals. Astoria could do as she liked.

“Parchment,” he said to the elf who gave him the letter. “And a quill.”

“Of course, Master Malfoy, which quill would you like to use?”

He stared at the empty chair across from him for a moment. “On second thought, I’ll go get them myself.” He ate one last bite off of his plate, wiped his mouth on his napkin, and stood from his chair. No time like the present to get on board with Granger’s plan to treat house elves better.

“Yes, Master Malfoy.”


	2. Pick Up Into Measure Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As his own family abandons him, Draco can only count on one family to always welcome him with open arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done with this chapter, I meant to get it up two weeks ago but I started a new job and well...here we are. Enjoy!

The Malfoy mansion remained empty and quiet during the day as the Fall season wore on, the only noises were of the house elves humming to themselves as they did the housekeeping. During the night, Astoria and Draco’s fights resonated through the mansion, doors slammed rang in their heads for hours after unless one of them put on music. But Draco could barely stand Astoria’s music, and Astoria _hated_ Draco’s music, so the yelling would start up again and then neither of them could get any sleep that night because they worried about what this would mean for their son.

It didn’t matter what it meant for their marriage, their marriage had never been for anything but to keep up an image.

Draco was almost sad to notice his wife was drifting farther and farther away. Then he realized she wasn’t on a slow train away from him, she was taking the express. And he found that he was kind of more than okay with that.

The Hogwarts train was due to arrive at any moment. Draco and Astoria stood on the platform together, her arm linked through his as he fiddled with his jacket buttons. Other parents filled the station. The train pulled in; Astoria snapped at Draco to go get Scorpius’ things and shuffled Scorpius along, gripping his shoulders and telling him how great it was to see him while Draco silently pushed the trolley behind them. Scorpius didn’t say much on the way home, but Draco knew he noticed the rift. If Draco and Astoria could both agree on anything it was that their son was smart.

“Scorpius, honey, don’t unpack your bag,” Astoria said. She pushed him towards his room. “Go pack another trunk and we’ll be on our way to your grandparents’, yeah? That’s a good boy.”

Draco stopped in his tracks. “Why are you taking him? We didn’t discuss this.”

“I refuse to have him cohorting with the Potters and getting all--friendly--or whatever it is you are doing with them,” she hissed. “I am taking him, and we are staying with my parents until further notice.”

“Astoria!” He glanced towards the staircase where their son had just disappeared and lowered his voice. “Astoria, can talk about this? Like civil adults? There’s nothing wrong with the Potters, they’re actually good people who were trying to do the right things in the war. And the Weasley-Grangers--”

“Draco, if I hear one more word about the Potters and that clan of redheads, I am going to walk out that door and you are never going to see me again.”Draco sighed and threw his hands up in the air. “You know what? Fine. Go. The Weasley-Grangers and Potter have always treated me better than you ever have. And if you want to take Scorpius, that’s fine, as long as that’s what he wants, too.”

“He doesn’t have a choice. He’s coming with me whether he wants to or not.”

“He’s _our_ son. You can’t just take him away from me without my permission.”

 Astoria walked to the bottom of the staircase before speaking again. “I’ll be stopping by the Ministry later this week to file for a divorce, Draco.”

 A divorce. He should have known this was coming. It should have happened ages ago, before they even had Scorpius. But it was too late now, their son was born and grown, and now they had to decide where he was going to go. Maybe it was for the best that Astoria took him full time; Draco was never much of a father figure, and honestly, the idea had terrified him from the start. Would he turn out like his own father? Would he do better? _How_ would he do better? Was he even _capable_ of doing better?

“I suspect you’ll be very good at disappearing,” Draco called after her. “Do you have any final words?”

Astoria whirled around halfway up the stairs. “I can’t stand how pathetic you are. All you do when you’re home is sit and groan about how your life sucks now, and you spend most of your weekends with those Muggle-loving blood traitors! I should have never married you, my sister was right.” She turned on her heel and vanished, Apparated to Scorpius’ bedroom and out of the mansion forever.

Out of his life forever.

Draco stood where he was until he peeled away every layer of the mask he wore every day. And even then he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He shrugged and busied himself with figuring out what the Weasley-Grangers might have in mind for their Christmas celebration. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to bring gifts, and if he was, what they should be. Gifts in his family were always family heirlooms, Draco couldn’t exactly give Hugo Weasley-Granger an heirloom from the Malfoy mansion.

He sat at the desk in his study. “Lucky!” The elf appeared before him. “What do people usually get others at gifts?”

“I do not know, Master Malfoy,” the elf replied. “Master has never given Lucky a gift and many house elves are perfectly content with what they have, we have no need to give others material objects.

“Very helpful,” Draco muttered sarcastically. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Master Malfoy.” A crack, and the elf was gone.

There was only one person Draco could think of to help him with his dilemma. He retrieved some parchment and a quill from one of the drawers in his desk. Draco wrote out a quick note and made his way to the mansion’s owlery to send it off.

The next day, he received an owl with a better response than he could have expected. Hermione would help him find gifts for the families and tell him about Christmas customs outside of the Malfoy family.

==========

“Diagon Alley has all the usual suspects, the kids will be expecting things from there, plus it’s always really crowded during the holidays. Same thing with Hogsmeade,” said Hermione as they made their way away from the Weasley-Granger house. “So if you want to find them something _really_ special”--she put a hand on his arm--”you have to go to London.”

Hermione whisked Draco through the passages of time and space to an empty alley in the middle of the city.

A bus roared as it passed at one end of the alley, splashing through snow slush with a wet crunch. Chatter from either side of the alley was just as loud as the bus in Draco’s ears, the carolers across the street filled in the cracks of his mind and overloaded all of his functions. He barely noticed that Hermione had kept talking and started to leave the alley until he was falling and she was running to catch him and he was clutching his hands tight over his ears to keep the sounds out.

“Draco!” It wasn’t the first time Hermione called his name, but it was the first time that it cut through the buzz slowly increasing in volume. She called his name again and the buzz dropped to a low hum. He looked up at her and the hum stopped.

“Are you alright?” she asked him, concern on her face.

_Her eyes are brown_ , he noticed, _brown like delicious chocolates_ . He steeled himself. _Don’t be ridiculous. If they’re like chocolates, then they must be like the ugliest chocolate frogs._ “I’m fine, let me up.”

Hermione tried to help him stand, but Draco pulled his arm from her grasp and walked off with a huff and a deep scowl.

“Draco?”

“What?” he said gruffly.

“We’re going the other direction.”

He turned on his heel and brushed past her with another huff.

She followed after him with a shake of her head and a small laugh.

Hermione brought Draco to all sorts of places, from souvenir shops to toy shops to tea shops to a magic shop (“But this is just trickery, Hermione!”) to several old bookstores and Draco still hadn’t found anything he thought was worthy of getting the kids. When they sat down for dinner at a small, quiet restaurant, Hermione barely glanced down at her menu before declaring that Draco was being difficult.

“I’m being ‘ _difficult_ ’? Tell that to all of the shops we’ve been to that don’t have anything worthy of gifting to your children.” Draco held up his menu to block Hermione’s view of his face. This was a bad idea.

“Anything you get them will be perfect, Draco, because it came from you,” she told him. “It’s the thought that counts.”

Draco put down his menu. “Tell that to them when they get a grimy bronze knut but they’re looking for their shiny gold galleon.” He propped up his menu again.

The waiter came over to take their order. “Can I get you lovely folks anything to drink tonight? We have a nice brand of champagne in right now, perfect for date nights--”

“We are _not_ on a date,” Draco interrupted, but he didn’t get to finish either. “She and I--”

“Yes! Yes we are,” Hermione cut in, smiling sweetly at the waiter. “We are very much on a date, my boyfriend here is quite the joker”--Draco practically growled at her--”we’re here for our _anniversary_.”

_She is going to pay for this._ “Alright. We’ll get the champagne,” he said dryly. “Since it’s our anniversary.”

“Great, I’ll be right back with some glasses and to take your food order!” The waiter sped off.

Draco leaned over the table. “Whatever you’re up to Granger--”

“Weasley-Granger.”

“Whatever you’re up to--”

“I’m not up to anything,” Hermione replied innocently as she slipped off her wedding ring and hid it in her pocket. “I’m just trying to enjoy a dinner out with a friend. Which I am paying for, by the way, so don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He didn't mean that she would literally pay for this, but it wouldn't be completely awful if she did. Even Draco, raised under one of the wealthiest wizarding families in the world, understood the meaning of the gift of a meal and he wasn’t about to turn it down.

Hermione hide her smug smile behind her menu, knowing Draco’s silence meant he was resigned to the situation, probably even grateful if he was capable of that. The waiter came back with their champagne and took their food order, winking at each of them as he cleared their plates when they were done and informing them that the champagne was on the house.

“How long have you two been together?” he asked them.

Hermione glanced at Draco, trying to decide if they had kept up the charade long enough. He just looked away and shrugged. “Three years.” Not entirely a lie; they had known each other for three months and they were together as friends...okay so maybe it was a complete lie. But the waiter didn’t have to know that.

The waiter clapped his hands and jumped excitedly. “Marvelous! I’ll be right back with your dessert!”

“Oh, no, we don’t need any dessert, just the check please,” Hermione tried to stop him from skipping off through the swinging kitchen doors.

 Draco pushed his chair back and stood. “I’ll go get him and explain the situation--”

“No, Draco, you are staying right at this table with me.” Her voice was soft but commanding, and it made Draco pause. He opened his mouth like he was going to argue, then shut it. He turned and stalked after the waiter.

Draco pushed through the doors and immediately spotted their waiter leaning against the butcher’s block twirling a ladle around his index finger. He was animated in whatever story he was telling the line cook, waving his free hand to demonstrate something he saw. The line cook was preparing a meal while the waiter chattered away, barely acknowledging his words with a grunt when prompted.

“I’m telling you, Alfredo, the thing was  _huge_! It barely fit in the doorway and they still had to get it down the--Hey, there’s the weird guy from the couple at Table 4 I was telling you about!” The waiter pointed to Draco.

“Remy it’s rude to point,” said the line cook, Alfredo, without looking up.

Draco stood just inside the kitchen awkwardly. “Um, yes, that is me. And we would not like any dessert. At all.”

“See Remy? The man doesn’t want any dessert. Now go get their check and tend to your other tables.”

Remy pouted. “Neither of you are any fun.” He pushed off of the butcher’s block and put down the ladle. “But if you insist, I will bring you your check.”

“Thank you,” said Draco stiffly on his way out and rejoined Hermione.

She looked at him in mock awe. “Did I just hear you thank someone? Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?”

“I’m--” He saw the twinkle in her eye. “I just want--I just want this night to be over so I can go home.”

The twinkle disappeared. “Did you...not have fun today?”

Draco tried to backpedal because that wasn’t what he meant at all. He didn’t know what he meant. “I didn’t say that.”

“Okay.” Hermione tossed her napkin on the table and picked up her purse, taking it to the front counter and paying for their meal.

They waved their goodbyes to the nosey waiter, then Hermione whisked them away from the city, to the front of the Weasley-Granger house. She asked him if he wanted to come in to say goodnight to Ron and the kids, but Draco said he’d better get home before the mansion got lonely.

Hermione knew he wanted her to pretend he didn’t just make a joke, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about his wife and son all day. Not that he did normally, it’s just that he’d been coming around more often lately and he always looked like he wasn’t getting any sleep. “Aren’t Astoria and Scorpius there to keep it warm?”

He shuffled his feet in the snow and drew his cloak tighter around him, giving a little cough. “Astoria took Scorpius,” he said, voice barely audible over the wind. A storm was rolling in from the west.

“What?”

“Astoria took Scorpius,” he said a little louder. “She left me and took him with her.” Something inside of him broke. “I never really loved her, our marriage was a huge mistake, but it was always good to have someone, you know? Just to have someone to come home to every night and to help keep the bed warm.”

“Oh Draco.” Hermione rushed to put her arms around him, nearly toppling him in the process. “I’m so sorry.”

He stood still with her arms wrapped around him, his sobs silent in the howling wind. But Hermione knew. Hermione knew this was worse than anything he endured during or after the Battle. During the Battle, Draco had people who said they cared about him, and after...well whatever Astoria was to him was enough to for him to feel cared for, at least for a little while. Now all that was gone. Everyone Draco felt safe with, left him, and now he was stuck fighting his self-hatred without a familiar hand to hold.

“But you aren’t alone.”

==========

_ Life was stringing me along _

_ Then you came and you cut me loose _

_ Was solo singing on my own _

_ Now I can't find the key without you _

==========

Draco ended up staying the night in the Weasley-Granger’s guest room, which was really just the kitchen cleared of everything except for the woodstove so he wouldn’t get cold. They moved the bed frame and mattress from the closet and piled blankets on top of it for him to use as he needed, along with a pillow. The kids were already asleep upstairs and the three did their best not to wake them.

“I know it’s not the fancy silk sheets you probably have in your mansion, but they’re the best we’ve got,” said Ron. He and Hermione stood in the doorway of the kitchen, the soft glow from the single bulb in the ceiling lit their faces just enough for Draco to see how embarrassed Ron looked.

Draco picked up the topmost blanket on the pile and felt the material. It was actually quite soft, almost as soft as his own blankets, despite its ragged appearance. “They’re fine. Really. Thank you.”

Ron scrunched his eyebrows together in surprise. “Did you just--”

Hermione jabbed an elbow into Ron’s side. “Goodnight Draco. We’ll be upstairs if you need anything else.”

He nodded.

The couple left him to settle in. Draco removed his cloak and shivered. The woodstove was still going strong, and it was actually quite cozy in the room, but the kindness the Weasley-Grangers were showing him was unsettling. If they were in a similar position would he show them the same kindness? The mansion had space for more than twice the number of the entire Potter crew. He realized that what it came down to was whether or not he trusted them not to take their revenge on him in his sleep.

Draco had been spending every Saturday with the Potter crew for the past two months along with random nights in between with the Weasley-Grangers and they hadn’t found a way to murder him yet. They probably weren’t going to do anything to him,  they even seemed to like him. And he found that, somewhere in his heart, he sort of liked them too.

So yeah, maybe he would let them stay in his mansion, and maybe he didn’t have to sleep with one eye open that night.

Draco stayed that night, and the next night, and the night after that. On the first night, he got the best sleep he’d gotten in _months_ , and he woke up to Hugo and Rose standing over him with curious eyes. Hermione ushered them away as soon as she saw he was awake, telling them “Uncle Draco” just needed a place to stay for the night. The kids started calling him Uncle Draco from then on which felt weird at first, but ultimately he was fine with it (even if he wouldn’t show it) because it meant he had a family even if they weren’t blood. Ron and Hermione expanded their round table to accommodate one more on Sunday morning and Hermione packed two lunches on Monday when Ron and Draco were off to work. Ron caught up to Draco in the field outside his house where they traveled by portkey to after work and walked with him to the front door so they would arrive together and Hermione already had the table set for five instead of four so Draco decided he could stay for one more meal and then he would collect his things and leave. But the three of them talked into the night about anything and everything, long after the kids had gone to bed, and it just made sense for Draco to stay one more night.

On the fourth day, Hermione made two lunches again, and Ron and Draco set out for the portkey together.

“You staying over again tonight? It’s Weasley-Granger game night,” said Ron.

“I couldn’t impose on a family night,” Draco replied.

“Nonsense.” Ron waved away his excuse. “You’re always welcome, mate. Think it over, and when you come by to collect your things tonight you can decide.”

Draco was silent for a minute. “Somebody needs to make sure the mansion hasn’t gone up in flames.”

“So we’ll stop by before we head into work.” Ron smiled down at him. It was a kind smile, not the mocking sneers Draco was so used to from the people around him. He stumbled over an uneven patch of grass, his momentary clumsiness worsened by the long robes Ron let him borrow, and he fell flat on his face.

Did his heart really just stutter? There was something about Ron Weasley that he hadn’t seen before _that_ smile, that he hadn’t seen in all the blind hatred tossed around at Hogwarts: a Ron Weasley that believed that he, Draco Malfoy, wasn’t the worst person in the world. And as he laid there in the dirt, Draco realized he no longer believed the family of redheads and their spouses were the worst people in the world either. Maybe it wasn’t even his belief to begin with, just something drilled into him since the day he was born and deep down he knew it was wrong.

To Ron’s credit, he barely snickered as he pulled Draco up from the ground. “We’re definitely stopping by your fancy mansion to get you some clean robes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the last majorly sad part of the fic. There are still some bits that need to happen but everything should be in an upswing from here on out. Prepare yourself for the fluff to come, and don't say I didn't warn you. Comments and kudos are much appreciated~
> 
> Rocky


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